Heartfelt Lies
by thatiranianphantom
Summary: And I see I'd love to spend the night/But you found someone else to lie beside *The aftermath of Sexy for Brittana*


**A/N: Oh my god. Sexy completely destroyed me. My little Brittana heart is broken. Thus, this fic was born to the music of Ron Pope, he of the amazing songs. Enjoy and review, please! **

_I walk by the river's edge__  
__Skipping smooth wet stones__  
__And watching them sink_

"Sink" is a pretty appropriate term for what you went through. In the eighty-thousand times you replay that conversation (can it even be called that?) in your head, it seems you can only come back to just one sentence.

_I do love you, and I would totally be with you if it weren't for Artie._

And just like that, you meant nothing to her. Ten years of friendship, four years of "lady kisses", ever since that time Brittany wanted to see what it would feel like to kiss someone in the summer after seventh grade (_Mr. Rogers said it's really important to value your friends)_. Back then, twelve-year-old you hadn't questioned it, hadn't fought it, hadn't really thought about it, save for the fleeting inquiry as to whether this would change the closest friendship you'd ever had.

Hard to fucking tell where that went wrong, isn't it?

Suddenly, it's four years later, Brittany doesn't want you, and some stupid babble about being in love with her is spilling from a place you weren't ever sure existed inside you.

_And I see I'm wrong for you__  
__But we tried__  
__You swear I'm hard to lay beside__  
__If I was you I'd run from me most nights__  
_

You don't cry. Everybody'd expect you too, of course. But you're Santana Fucking Lopez. Head Bitch in Charge of McKinley High, and it's all you've ever wanted. It's definitely defined most of your meaningful relationships. Quinn may be dragging Finn along on a string, fully aware of the golden ticket to McKinley royalty he represented, and _bitch_ would undoubtedly be one of the first words that would spring to Santana's mind whenever she thought of Quinn. But at least Santana was honest about what she wanted. It was a lonely place at the top of the pyramid, and if Santana was going to get there, well, who fucking needed feelings?

_Maybe I was meant to be left behind_

So you let it roll of your back. Because you didn't really love her anyway, right? Can't miss what was never there. This ache inside you, this wall of pain you are currently feelings, just the result of a few too many Jennifer Aniston movies. You're your own raft in this sea of alone-ness that swallows you, and it's better that way. Brittany had Artie. And you have Sam.

_Just a warm body, _she remembered telling Brittany once.

So time would go by and just hearing Brittany's name in the hallways wouldn't make you feel like you wanted to throw up. Seeing her wheel Artie down the hall wouldn't make you want to run into a bathroom stall and let all these stupid _feelings_ out. Cheerios wouldn't be just an escape anymore, a way to be somewhere she wasn't.

And you could grit your teeth and believe, really truly believe, that Brittany and Artie had something real. That you were crazy to think you and Brittany would ever amount to anything besides best friends.

_Thundering circumstances__  
__Beyond our control rumble in__  
__Counting time by the lines 'round your eyes__  
__As your gentle caress helps me forget_

And you could believe that, you could if your mind hadn't rebelled against you and kept playing that song, that conversation, inside your head so fucking _vividly_ that you swear you could still hear the slam of the locker. The smell of Brittany's hairspray. The harsh antiseptic smell of the floor wax.

And especially the five words that just won't fuck off and leave you alone.

_Of course I love you. Of course I love you_. _Of course I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou..._

And with _that_, you can't seem to forget those afternoons at Brittany's, the only senses in your mind the smell of fresh linens and the feel of her soft lips. Or all the nights curled up in bed, her lying across your lap and your fingers combing through her hair.

You can't forget, and you were a goddamn idiot to think that actually meant something to her. You were an idiot for singing that song with her, for memorizing the look in her eyes, and hoping, so hoping, she'd see it in yours. You were an idiot for not caring what people saw in you for once in your life.

Goddamnit, Lopez, where was your fucking resolve when you said it was better without feelings? Why the fuck did you let her convince you to actually feel something for someone, when you _know_ how that turns out?

Why did she say no?

_And I think it's time to say good night__  
__And you swear I'm hard to lay beside__  
__Now years seem to pass as we blink our eyes__  
__Maybe I was meant to be left behind__  
_

Glee club isn't your safe place. Not anymore. It used to be, used to be this oasis of calm where you could let down your carefully constructed guard. It was a place to forget how exhausting the rest of the world could be.

Now, thanks to some big cosmic joke, it was a place where, in order to show people how fine you were (and you were, you _were!)_ you was forced into watching Brittany and Artie, and them just being in the same room that she was in twisted your stomach just that little bit more. You avoided Glee for the first week, claiming illness and throwing in some snarky retort that was something along the lines of the patterning of Mr. Shue's daily vest making you nauseous, but nobody knew better than you what it would look like if you were to quit Glee now.

Berry was jumping around like a retarded puppy when you first arrive; spewing on about something you couldn't care less about. You silently make your way to an empty seat, giving cursory glares to those beneath you.

And it doesn't even take five minutes, not five fucking minutes, for you to feel the soft tap on your shoulder you were dreading.

_Don't turn around, don't turn around, nononono, _your mind screams, but you're Santana Lopez, fearless and not in love with Brittany.

She gives you a small smile and looks about to hug you, so you take a cautionary step back.

Her brow furrows in confusion.

"San..." she smiles. "Where were you? Mr. Shue said you were sick, but you still look nice. I tried to call you five hundred times, I guess your fingers were sick too..."

And you, Santana Lopez, are screwed.

So fucking screwed that all you can do is flee from the room, feeling the stares of every single other person there, but it's better than being there, anything is better than being there.

You thought you were strong enough, but apparently, you're a coward.

You're not sure how you ended up in the park you and...you used to come to when you were a child, but you sit down on a swing, rocking back and forth to sooth the sobs that are forcing their way out of you.

You don't care, you don't care, you don't you don't you don't...

And Santana Lopez, Head Bitch In Charge of McKinley, in love with Brittany, swings and cries and cries and swings and debates just when her life got so fucked up.

_And I see I'd love to spend the night__  
__But you found someone else to lay beside__  
__And I know it makes sense__  
__But it's like sand in my eyes__  
__Maybe I was meant to be left behind_

You've never thought of Brittany as stupid. You know other people have and do, and those are usually the people whose asses you kick on a regular basis, but you've always thought of Brittany as calm and sensitive. The ying to your yang. The Demi to your Miley, you guess.

But now, as your phone buzzes again and again, you can't help but feel a flash of irritation. You just want to be fucking left alone. Why doesn't she understand that? So you turn your phone off in the vain hope she'll stop calling and texting, burrowing yourself in your covers and making yourself dead to the world.

So imagine your surprise when you hear the voice you've been so desperately trying to forget, calling your name again and again.

And imagine your bigger surprise when her eyes are red and bloodshot and how it's almost enough to quell the anger flaming inside you. Almost.

"What are you doing here," you snap, and her face falls further, but you don't care as you try so desperately to hold onto the anger that's all that's keeping you together.

"San..." she whispers, reaching a hand towards you. "Why are you still mad at me?"

You snort incredulously. "_Why_? You _rejected _me, Brittany."

Her eyes well, and she steps closer. "I told you I loved you too, San -"

"Not enough, clearly," you spit, and this fuel the anger is giving you, you pray fervently it never goes away, because without it, you'd fall apart on the spot.

"Not more than your stupid cripple boyfriend. Jesus, Brit, I tell you I love you – _me_ – and you know better than anyone how much I hate weepy love confessions, and you dump me flat on my face!"

_By all of our heartfelt lies__  
__All of our heartfelt lies __  
__Are not enough this time_

Her head drops, the blonde strands falling in her eyes. "But San...if I don't have you...who do I have? I told you, if Artie and I ever break up – "

"I'll be your sloppy seconds? Sorry, Brit, somehow that doesn't work for me."

A tear finally falls onto your cheek and you swipe it away angrily.

"I..you told me to talk about it, Brittany, you told me to sing about it! And once upon a time, I can assume I actually meant something to you, so what fucking changed?"

"Nothing!" she insists. "I still love you, you're still my best friend..."

"No!" you snap, brushing past her and yanking the door open. "Don't patronize me, Brit. If you don't give a crap about me, just fucking say it. Now get out of my house."

She starts to say something, but you don't give her a second to respond, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the door.

"Santana, why are you so angry.." and you almost laugh as the words come out of your mouth, but you have so little energy for this anymore.

"You have your coping strategies, I have mine. Now get out."

And as she leaves, for what may be the last time, Santana cranks up the radio, mindlessly tuning it to a station playing the Beatles.

_All you need is love..._

Well, they gotta tell you something.

_**Love and loss, truth it costs,**_

_**More than I can spare right now**_

_**Maybe it's simpler to lie.**_


End file.
